In true British fashion the weather carried them through the next fifteen minutes or so, with Pat, Fen, Bill, and Jack contributing remarks of varying relevance or interest about weather they had experienced, meteorological patterns at their various homes, and comparative rainfall in different parts of the country. By the time they were seated to dine, Pat felt like a chattering parrot but at least the atmosphere had reduced to a slow simmer. She was quite ready not to open her mouth again all evening, but Fen, who had borne a good half of the conversational burden and whose chirpy tone was starting to ebb, said, “So do tell us all about the shooting!”

Pat repressed a groan and launched into a detailed account of the day, despite Lady Anna’s audible sigh of annoyance: if nobody else was going to speak, they all deserved to be bored to death. Bill took over when she ran out of steam, giving an exhaustive account of all his shots and concluding each, “Missed the blighter,” with an entirely straight face.

Miss Singh had recovered her composure by then. Once Bill’s invention gave out, and as the soup bowls were being removed, she said, voice calm as ever, “Dear me, Mr. Merton, how regrettable. And how was your day, Preston?”

“Good heavens,” Haworth said, breaking his silence for the first time. “Do we understand that our principled—”

Miss Singh raised her voice, deliberately speaking over him though her expression and inflection didn’t change at all. “I do hope that you had an enjoyable time. I dare say it was somewhat damp in the latter parts but at least you had the sunshine all morning.”

Haworth had stopped speaking, apparently startled by the interruption. Clearly he expected to be the only one breaking the rules of good manners. He opened his mouth again as she finished, and Preston said, loudly, “It was a delightful day, thank you. I had a fine bag, but Pat here carried off the honours. She gave a very modest account just now, but the fact is, I’ve rarely seen such shooting. Privilege to witness.”

“Oh, so—” Haworth began, and Fen came in, at a pitch that threatened the glassware and cut right through his deeper voice. “How wonderful, Pat! You showed all the men how it’s done. Even Jimmy, and Mr. Merton?”

“I’m rather—”

“Especially me,” Bill said. “I’m used to it, of course. Even our eldest brother gives her the laurels, and he’s not one to admit himself second best.”

“Marvellous.” Fen clapped her hands. “Pat was teaching me to shoot yesterday, you know, and she was really wonderful. I learned a great deal. Not that I have any ambitions to be a champion, of course.”

“You—”